The letter arrived without a return address, but she knew exactly who had sent it. There was only one person who knew her new address. And he wasn’t supposed to know it at all. Clara stood in the hallway of her apartment, keys still in hand, staring at the envelope taped neatly to her door. No stamp. No smudges. Just her name. She peeled it off slowly. Inside: You moved without saying goodbye. Her chest tightened. “I did say goodbye,” she muttered. “You just didn’t like it.” The floor above her creaked. She froze. The unit upstairs had been empty since she moved in. The landlord had told her that himself. “Old building,” she whispered. “Noise travels.” Still— The creak came again. Slow. Measured. Like pacing. She unfolded the letter further. You should have stayed. Her throat went dry. “I couldn’t stay,” she said. “You know that.” A soft thump sounded overhead. Then another. Footsteps. Clear now. Walking from one end of the apartment above her… to the other. Clara backed toward her door. Locked. Bolted. Safe. “Hello?” she called upward. The footsteps stopped. Silence. Then— A single step. Directly above her. The letter shifted. New words pressed into the paper. You didn’t move far enough. Her heart slammed against her ribs. “I moved cities,” she whispered. The ceiling above her creaked again. Lower this time. Closer. As if the distance between floors had thinned. A faint outline appeared in the plaster overhead. A shadow. Standing. Directly above her. “Leave,” she said, voice shaking. “Just—leave me alone.” The letter slipped from her hand. When she picked it up, the final message had changed. I didn’t follow you. A crack split across the ceiling. Dust fell. The shadow stretched. You brought me with you. The light flickered. Clara didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t look away. She left the light on, just in case someone - or something - was still reading.